


Only For You

by sansbanshees



Series: know that what we had was real [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Fingering, Smart is Sexy, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansbanshees/pseuds/sansbanshees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You enjoyed that,” she says, observation without accusation.</p><p>Her appropriation of his earlier words earns a smile, very small, but deeply fond. “And if I did?”</p><p>“I’m just… tucking it away, for future use.”  She scoots closer to rest her head on his outstretched arm. “I’ll get a few more out of you, eventually. Turnabout is fair play, and it is coming.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only For You

She likes this.

It’s— _wonderful_ , all the ways in which their relationship has changed. There’s the kissing, which is nice, and the fucking, which is phenomenal, but of all the new things, this, what she’s doing now—and the Maker will strike her dead before Evelyn ever admits it to anyone _but_ Solas—is, perhaps, her favorite.

Her hand holding his, a loose tangle of fingers, the warmth of the inside of his wrist settled against the inside of hers, proximity alone reason enough to touch him now that they are whatever they are. It was an entirely unconscious gesture, thoughtless, _easy_ , natural as breathing, something she’s never done before him.

She’s had her share of trysts in the Circle. She even thought herself in love once or twice, and maybe she was, but stolen moments fraught with the fear of being caught, of having it taken away or twisted to degrade her at the whims of the Templars… Open affection has never been a part of her life, and for good reason.

But this—this is not that. This is _far_ from that. This is allowed, if not quite encouraged yet. It’s still new, after all.

When she looks at Solas, he isn’t looking at her, his attention outwardly devoted to whatever topic he’s discussing with Thom—a name she still has trouble remembering to use, but it feels right to try, that he should be himself, now that the dust has settled—but there, blink and she’d miss it, the faintest hint of red creeping up Solas’s neck at the contact even as his thumb smooths across her skin in silent acknowledgement.

“Oh, what’s _this_ , then?” Sera pipes up, a snort of laughter on the heels of her words, suddenly very interested in the goings-on, and so soon after declaring them all terminally boring, too. If only her ability to break such spells could be harnessed like her bees—they could lob it at Corypheus and all that magic would just fall apart. “Finally figured out your bits can bang at her bits, did you? Ooh Lady Herald, kiss noise, kiss noise.” She turns to Evelyn, the picture of disgust, amusement, and yet more disgust. “How d’you even stay _awake_ , all Fade this, spirit rubbish that?”

Evelyn tries very hard not to laugh. It’s terrible. It is. She should definitely not encourage this. “Sera—”

“Ugh, you don’t do it _there_ , do you? His _friends_ floating by, getting a peek at you. Twist their purpose right up, you will. Twisting mine just thinking about it.” Sera pauses for a moment, thinking about it. “Well. The you part’s all right, I guess.”

Evelyn laughs. She can’t help it. Her hand falls away from his and she clutches at her stomach, as if that could stem the tide, and all this while Solas looks on in abject horror.

“I am so _glad_ that this amuses you, vhenan.” He shakes his head, shooting a sidelong glare at Sera, who is in no position to see it, doubled over as she is in the throes of retching noises.

“It’s this or crying. Your call.” Evelyn leans in, laughter mostly under control now, but there’s nothing to be done for the smile. “Besides, this whole flustered look really works for you. It’s no doom and gloom, but… I like it.”

To illustrate her point, she reaches up and gently cups his cheek, sweeping her thumb across the red that’s risen there beneath his freckles. He leans into it, the start of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“If that is true, then it seems I have no choice but to indulge you.”

“All right,” Thom, it appears, has hit his limit. “That’s enough, now. Any more and she’ll be rolling in her own sick for real, and I might not be far behind her.”

***

As it happens, she wears the flustered look quite well, herself—at least, as far as Solas is concerned.

"You enjoyed that,” he says, and it's both observation and accusation.

Normally, Evelyn would refute it until she'd gone blue in the face, but this is new too, being seen so plainly—she might as well be transparent, when it comes to him—and it hardly seems fair to shove it aside without at least giving it a try.

The fact that he has not just one, but two fingers buried in her cunt while his thumb works at her clit is entirely irrelevant to this newfound pliancy.

Well— mostly.

"Which part?" Her breath hitches as he curls his fingers, and she turns her head, half moaning and half laughing into his throat. "You being adorable, or getting under Sera's skin?"

"Adorable?" He says the word as if it rankles, and she knows without even seeing that his nose has that wrinkle of distaste scrunched in its bridge. "I have been called many things in life, vhenan, but that is not one of them."

"It is now." Evelyn nips at his throat and he shivers, the most interesting noise slipping out at the sharpness of her teeth, which only serves to spur her on. "Adorable. Darling. _Precious_. And if you don't hurry up and fuck me—”

“No,” he says, but the snort of amusement he lets out betrays any feint at annoyance he might have tried for. “I don’t think I will.”

Her pouting laughter at this sudden turn of events is entirely undignified. “But— _why_?”

“ _I_ am the wronged party in this, am I not?” He pulls his fingers out of her slowly, dragging a wet trail up the seam of her cunt, one final, awful, entirely too soft press at her clit to drive his point home, and she clenches her thighs together to hold him there with a whine. “If anyone should be making an effort right now, it is you.”

“ _Solas_.” She groans and shifts her head, narrowing her eyes when she’s certain he’s watching. “You’re awful and I hate you.”

He chuckles, clearly very pleased with himself. “Lies do not become you.”

With a great, heaving sigh, Evelyn lets her thighs part enough to free him, but it’s all show and he knows it as well as she does. As much as she enjoys being on the receiving end of his attention, she enjoys the reversal, too. The fact that she gets to have both—as much as they want, for as long as they want—that will _never get old_.

“What’ll it be, then? Should I tell you how strong and virile you are? How I swoon at your utter manliness?” She hooks her leg around his thigh and it takes only a light push at his chest to reverse their positions, Solas on his back now and her perched on top of him. “No… That’s too vague, isn’t it?” She hums in consideration, leaning forward to nose at his jaw, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You'll want something specific. Something with a little more thought put into it. Something I couldn’t say of just anyone.”

He makes a noise of encouragement to let her know that she’s on the right track, and trails a slow, gentle touch up the length of her spine.

“Then I should probably tell you about the ongoing love affair I’ve been having with your voice behind your back. The sound of it—” She closes her eyes, savoring the memory of the first time she realized the effect it had on her, which was, what, the second time she spoke to him? “You could read me Skyhold’s financial ledger, and I’d be soaking my smalls by the second line item.”

“That could be arranged, if it pleases you,” he murmurs, raising his head to brush his lips against hers, not quite a kiss, but the promise of one.

“Mm. I think it would.” She nudges his brow with her own, pushes gently to guide him back down because she isn’t nearly finished yet. “Where was I? Oh, that’s right, your voice. And then, there's your _hands_. It doesn’t even matter what you’re doing with them. Writing, casting, mixing plaster—" She reaches for one of them, lifts it so she can kiss the tips of his fingers, his palm, his wrist, the taste and scent of herself still present on his skin. “They’re captivating. Confident. Like they move the way you speak. And what you do to me with them, I—"

She _gasps_ is what she does, caught completely unaware of what his other hand was doing, her breath rushing out high and tight at the pleasant current gathered in the tips of his fingers as he presses them high into her folds.

“Am I boring you?” she asks, her voice too breathless to be any measure of scolding.

“On the contrary,” he says, pressing further still with the start of a smile as her back arches in pleasure, unfettered by the bend of his wrist. “What man would not be riveted, hearing the very things about himself the person in his bed delights in? How could he not then use them to his advantage, as fully as possible?”

She tilts her head, considering his response.

Use them to...

And all at once, it hits her.

Oh.

Oh, _no_.

“Oh, you dirty _cheat_.” She can’t help but laugh when she realizes what this is, that she was _never_ going to placate him by stroking his ego— he played her, she gave him everything he needs, and she can only assume his plan is to make her scream herself hoarse while the entire camp hears her do it. How fortunate she hadn’t yet voiced her appreciation for his calculating intellect, though she suspects he knew that one, going in. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“I look forward to it.” Solas is smiling now, and while it isn’t precisely smug, there is blatant victory in it. He has her, he’s known it all along, and now that she knows it too, the charade can end. “As for now, I believe I have a previous debt to settle with you."

“Don’t be silly. What’s a little debt, between friends?” Evelyn slides off of him very carefully, edging slowly backwards and fighting a smile all the while, eyes lighting up as he moves to pursue her. “Consider it absolved.”

“That is generous, but unnecessary.” He prowls towards her on all fours, careful to draw this chase out, use it for all its worth, and if it’s possible to die from arousal, Evelyn may well do exactly that. “I have the means, I will see it paid.”

“Sera will never forgive you for making her hear this.” It’s a weak play at resistance but her resolve has dwindled down to almost nothing, straws the only things left to grasp at, and she will not give him the satisfaction of going quietly, which… is essentially the lynchpin of his plan. “Lizards, Solas. _Lizards_.”

“You say that as if you think it will deter me.” He glances up, and the look on his face _is_ smug now. She finds out why immediately after, her back fetching up to the corner of the tent, the last piece falling right into place. “There is nowhere left to run, vhenan. Admit defeat and I might be merciful.”

“I’ll go under the tent.”

She _won’t_ , not naked, not for all the frilly cakes in Orlais, but the idea seems to amuse him.

“Go then. I should like to see that.” Only she makes no move to evade him, so he inches closer, his fingers running slowly up the length of her calf. “What is it to be? Do you yield?”

Evelyn raises her chin, the picture of defiance. “Do. Your. Worst.”

He cants his head, taking a moment to let his gaze sweep over every inch of her. The delight in his eyes when they reach hers is a perfect mirror to her own.

“Ma nuvenin, vhenan.”

She feints left, throws all her weight to the right to dodge past him only to be caught in short order, taken down with a giggling shriek and flailing wildly within the wiry band of his arms when they fall to their sides on the ground.

“You made a valiant effort," he tells her, the heat of his breath grazing the edge of her ear, and the satisfaction in his voice is plain, but beyond it, there is something else, something incredibly tender, _admiring_ , and she flushes with warmth all over. "And took the measure of me so quickly, too—faster even than I thought you might.” He hitches her leg up and traps it between his own to hold her thighs apart. “That is something to be proud of.”

She has something to say to that, really, she does, but the words she'd found die on the tip of her tongue when his fingers plunge into her cunt with a thick, wet sound. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, to stop the sounds threatening to come out before they make a ruin of her—he’s barely touched her, and already, she is so close—but his other hand has beaten her to it, clamped firmly over her mouth to muffle the moan that spills out when his fingers scissor slowly inside of her.

What he's playing at now, she's momentarily lost the intellectual capacity to guess. Hadn't he _wanted_ a noisy production?

“Not yet,” he says, his voice a low murmur in her ear, “Not nearly yet. The first sound out of you will make even those deepest in slumber take notice."

She would laugh, if only she didn't know how true it is—this is no unfounded boast solely meant to excite her, and while it might be an unspeakably arrogant thing to say, it is also going to happen. Doomed does not even begin to cover what she is right now.

His fingers pump a steady rhythm into the wet squelch of her, so much slick to ease their passage it ought to be shameful, and it's good, it's _so_ Maker damned good. She loves his hands, has _always_ loved his hands, and though it isn't the first time she's had them, it is the first time she's had them like this, firm and steady with single-minded purpose, fingers scissoring and curling with aching precision. Drawing out to paint the swollen nub of her clit with slick only to abandon it and press back inside as it throbs and aches for more. She writhes against him, pushes back into the hard press of his cock at her backside, keening moans rising in crescendo behind the palm of his hand.

"How long, Evelyn? How long have you been so taken with the work of my hands? The sound of my voice?" A third finger joins the first two, filling her up, stretching her further, and the hiccuping sob she lets out must be close to what Solas wants to hear, because the hand at her mouth shifts over to cup her jaw, only his thumb left to rest gently at her lips. "How often did you run from my rooms to yours to do to yourself what I do to you now?"

She shudders at the memory of those early days, hot and desperate and weak with pleasure. If he only knew, the hours she spent doing exactly that, fucking herself raw with her own fingers after nearly every conversation they had, again and again, for so long they pruned by the time she was done—and still, it was never enough.

"That often?" It pleases him, the answer he infers from the shudder that racks her, but more than that, he sounds almost surprised. “You might have said. There were so many times I thought to—”

His breath hitches sharply when she tilts her head forward, closes her lips around his thumb and sucks, the only thing she can think to do to affect _him_. And it works, to a degree, the rhythm of his fingers thrusting in her faltering for a brief moment before he regains composure, shifting forward to nuzzle at the juncture of her neck with a huff of warm laughter.

“Do not think me removed from this… The sight of you, the way you feel, the way you move against me—I am not made of stone.”

Hearing him say that, hearing his low, appreciative noise in response to a shaky whimper slipping past her guard like a question, it pulls at something inside of her, and right then, Evelyn comes to a realization.

He likes this.

Not for the victory at hand, not for the satisfaction of outmaneuvering her in a play to pry her secrets loose—or, not _just_ for those, to say he doesn’t like them at all would be entirely wrong. He likes _this_ , taking those secrets and making good use of them, and whether he knows it or not—and she’s almost certain he does—it means everything. She’s never done anything like this before either, would never have thought to ask for it, _be quick, be quiet, and be done_ so heavily ingrained from her life in the Circle she might never have gotten away from it, and here he’s gone and cleared her a path to do just that, right under her nose.

The location he's chosen is not ideal, not by any stretch of her imagination, so revenge is clearly still a factor, but...

If he wants her loud, if he wants her a shaking, sobbing mess of his own making, that is exactly what he is going to get. They will hear her in Seheron before this is over, and if it means she is to fall on her sword in embarrassment when the time comes to face the camp, so be it.

“Solas,” she pants, finding words against all odds when she releases his thumb from her mouth, reaching up to curl her fingers around the hand at her face and squeeze. “Maker, fuck—Oh, please, _please_ —”

“Please what?” His rhythm slows, almost to a stop, and she whines, _loudly_ , cunt throbbing like a livid bruise at the sudden decline in sensation.

“You—” She gasps, whines, hips straining to find some measure of friction, pressure, _anything_ , and finding precious little. “Don’t... Don't you _dare_ leave me like this, or I’ll… I'll just…”

Solas laughs, and she doesn’t know whether she wants to kiss him or strangle him. “You will just what?”

 _Scream_ , she almost says—an incredibly counterproductive threat—but it's lost when the heel of his hand grinds down with another spark of that faint current of lightning, and the sound startled out of her instead is utterly obscene, a sharp, wailing cry so loud she's likely to have woken the dead, never mind the camp. Several more just like it rush out of her in quick succession, only rising in pitch and desperation when he starts fucking her in earnest, fingers thrusting hard and merciless, curling just right inside of her in perfect counterpoint to the steady grind of his thumb on her clit, the surging pleasure of it so unbearably good she can hardly breathe for all the noise she's making about it.

The way this feels, despite old instincts trying very hard to assert themselves and quiet her, despite the furious blush that will no doubt heat her face for weeks to come once morning gets here, Evelyn doesn’t want it to end, but it’s about to. Already, she can feel herself tensing, shaking, eyes squeezing shut to block out the world because it’s too much to take in with her senses overloaded like this, and then—

A moan.

Low, drawn out, not hers, but his, muffled into her shoulder behind the firm press of teeth to her skin, and all that pressure, all that heat, compressed and pulsing dangerously within her, bursts outward in a rush. 

The force of it makes her dizzy, steals her breath, the loud cry her lips are parted around hitching and wavering without air left to fuel it and still, he presses on, slowing only by degrees to work her through the long, shuddering wave of pleasure.

When it’s over, the tension gathered in her limbs dissipates and she falls back against him, limp and spent, breathing hard and sputtering out a brief giggle when his fingers slide out of her only to cup her mound in a way that's vaguely possessive, the weight of his hand more of a comfort now than an excitement.

When her wits finally settle back into some semblance of function, Evelyn wiggles out of his hold, rolls to her other side to face him, and takes a long moment to simply take in the sight. He looks—at ease, if not entirely content, staring back at her in comfortable silence, and it’s just as good as flustered.

“You enjoyed that,” she says, observation without accusation.

Her appropriation of his earlier words earns a smile, very small, but deeply fond. “And if I did?”

“I’m just… tucking it away, for future use.” She scoots closer to rest her head on his outstretched arm. “I’ll get a few more out of you, eventually. Turnabout is fair play, and it is coming.”

“I would not presume to doubt it.”

Rather than dwell on debts and payback or the morning looming ahead—never mind the wonder of how a jar of bees hadn’t been flung into their tent by now, Sera is _slipping_ —she reaches up, anchors her hold at the back of his neck and draws him down to fit their lips together in a demanding kiss, all tongues and teeth and promise, nowhere near finished with this night. There are at least a thousand more ways she’d like to have him, and if they start now, they might fit in a few more of them.

***

Evelyn has always been an early riser, up even before the sun peeks out from the horizon, and this morning is no exception. Today, it’s something of a blessing—if she dresses quickly, she can head this off, take the brunt of the teasing before Solas even wakes, which might not be for another hour or two. He’s usually the last one out of his tent, and she’s always been loathe to disturb him, even before recent developments—the courtesy of interrupting his time in the Fade for only the most urgent of reasons seemed the least she could do, and it’s not a habit she’s about to break.

Once she’s pulled her boots on, however, she does indulge the whim to drop a kiss at his temple, unsurprised when he utterly fails to stir.

“Like the dead...” she murmurs, with an affectionate shake of her head.

Thom is awake too, and mumbles out a greeting when he spots her coming towards the fire, his voice still heavy with sleep. She’s ready for it, _so_ ready, but then—

“Sleep well?”

There is nothing hidden in that question.

Or if there is, it’s woven in too deftly for her to spot, which seems unlikely, given how tiredly he blinks at the fire.

“I did...” She takes a seat at the other side of the fire, eyeing him with no small amount of wariness, as if the other shoe is simply waiting to drop. “You?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” He grumbles, stretching his shoulder back with a wince. “Bit rocky, this terrain. Doesn’t help I’m not getting any younger.”

“Not like that’s a thing people do. Not us people. Mage people, maybe. All that glowy magic.” Sera plops down right next to Evelyn, come seemingly from thin air, bleary-eyed and scratching at the wild tufts of her hair with a great, gaping yawn before she turns to Evelyn with a crooked little grin. “Get you, then. Quiet night? Could have told you he’d be bad at it, all elbows and elven glory.” She elbows playfully at Evelyn’s ribs, though she misses the mark—not a morning person, Sera.

And also not nearly so generous as to pretend she didn’t hear something she could milk mockery from for months on end.

Evelyn narrows her eyes, glancing from Thom to Sera and back again with great suspicion. “Are you two having me on right now?” They must be. They _have_ to be. “You are, right?”

Thom looks baffled for a moment, and then he shrugs it off with a shake of his head, choosing to busy himself with a steaming cup of the strongest, most bitter coffee in existence instead, rather than try to figure out her meaning.

Sera, on the other hand, looks affronted, her nose all wrinkled up at the idea that something could be going on that she doesn’t know about. “What are you on about? Having you on. But I’m the one that doesn’t make sense, right? Pff.”

For a long while, Evelyn can’t think of a single thing to say, she can only stare at them with a deep furrow in her brow. She scarcely tastes her breakfast, for all the disbelief she spends the early morning swimming in.

They have no idea. No clue. They heard nothing.

She’s certain it didn’t happen in the Fade—Solas wouldn’t do that for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which is the attention it would draw from denizens both good and—less good. It can’t be blood magic, either. He just… wouldn’t, not for this, and he doesn’t practice it, anyway. He might be _incredibly_ evasive, but she doesn’t believe for a second that what he says isn’t at least some measure of the truth and he’d told her as much very early in their acquaintance. What he doesn’t say, however...

This is clearly one of those things, and while she’s utterly baffled, she also can’t help but admire it, the way he forces her to _think_. Despite what Sera might believe—and will continue to believe, no matter what anyone has to say on the matter—there isn’t a single boring bone in his body, and Evelyn fully intends to tire out each and every one the next time they are alone for the dizzy spin her thoughts are caught up in.

Eventually, he ducks out from the tent they share, eschewing the food left out in favor of perusing the requisition ledger, undoubtedly taking note of all the items pertinent to this area. When he does look her way, she simply lifts a brow, opting to let things lie, for the moment. The corners of his mouth twitch, dangerously close to a smile—by his standards, at least—but otherwise undetectable to the casual observer, something meant just for her.

Later, when they’re ready to disembark and she can hardly stand to wait any longer, she clears her throat. “Solas?”

He glances up from the pass of his hand over his staff, pausing the cleanse as his fingers curl around the grip to steady his hold. “Yes, vhenan?”

“That matter we—discussed. Last night, I mean. You remember it, right?” She’s blushing. She has to be. There is far too much heat gathered in her face for it to be anything else.

As for Solas, he betrays nothing. “I could hardly forget, if that’s your concern.”

“Oh, perish the thought, you forgetting anything.” She snorts a laugh. “I wonder, though... If someone wanted to, say, _obscure_ something—the sight, or the sound, even. How could that be done?”

He glances away, that same twitch tugging at his mouth as he stands, not nearly as unaffected as he likes to seem. “I know of several spells that could accomplish what you ask, but the simplest, I think, would be a slight variation to a barrier. It is both effective and easier to maintain for a longer period of time. It is what I would employ, should the bulk of my focus be required elsewhere.”

 _Oh_.

She sucks in a shaky breath, the very thought of the lengths he’d gone to, the sheer amount of calculation it must have taken, the _sentiment_ behind it, woven into every facet of what they did last night—it sparks such sudden, pulsing want that she can hardly bear it, and of course, of _course_ , there is nothing she can do but stand and suffer it because duty calls.

“You have _ruined_ me for all future lovers,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck to drag him in for yet another embarrassing display, kissing him for all she’s worth, and it takes him a moment to grasp the situation, his arms folding her into a loose hold until she breaks away with a bright, wide smile. “You know that, right?”

“Have I?” He’s clearly still taken aback, but also terribly pleased by it, despite the same faint tint of red inching up his neck. “I will take that as a compliment.”

The disgusted “ _Ugh_!” out of Sera is so perfect a mimic that Evelyn almost believes Cassandra has joined them.

**Author's Note:**

> An incredibly divergent and out of control fill for this Dragon Age Kink Meme Prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15060.html?thread=59133140#t59133140 (I'm so sorry, OP.)


End file.
